


Your Words Like Blades

by facepalmConquistador



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, M/M, figure skating AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facepalmConquistador/pseuds/facepalmConquistador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I believe that I have to make my point a little more clear. And you better think about it, because I am offering you the only chance you have left at the Olympics. Now, we don’t have much time, so you better think quickly,” Gandalf said, pulling out something from the duffel bag and putting it on the bar table. It was a pair of skates. Thorin glanced at them, then looked at Gandalf in confusion. Then he looked at the skates again, properly.</p>
<p>They were figure skates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Words Like Blades

Mornings were always slow at the Blue Mountain, even if it was the most frequented pub in town. But on that day, the atmosphere was even more depressing than usual. Out of the two guests, one was sleeping on a table in the company of several empty bottles, and one was quietly sniffling and crying over a cup of coffee. Not like Thorin Oakenshield paid any mind to them, or at least any more than what he absolutely had to, being the manager and all. No, what made _his_ day depressing was the absolute disaster that was playing out on the enormous flat screen TV above the bar. It was only a minor league game, otherwise, the bar would’ve been packed with most of the adult population in town, even during work hours. That was no excuse for the absolute lack of teamwork and discipline that the local team was showing, though.

“No, you imbecile, he was open right there!” Thorin sneered at the screen, and kept wiping the table that he’s been polishing for the last half an hour. The team in red scored against the ones in white again, hockey puck sliding easily into the net, and he gripped the edge of the table so hard that the wood creaked in protest. His team… _old_ team, he corrected himself in mind, was better than this on their worst days. Fools who don’t have the proper dedication only bring shame to the sport, like his grandfather always said.

“I swear to everything that’s holy, if you can’t even score one point...” he was so absorbed in watching the local team’s attempt at taking the offensive that he didn’t even notice the little chime that announced the arrival of a new guest. The puck was flying around from stick to stick, and the game was getting fierce in the players’ desperation. Finally, a white-clad player got the puck and outmaneuvered the sticks around him, going in for a shot that would change the flow of the game. Thorin leaned over the table, holding his breath as the player swung, only to slam his fists down hard on the table when the puck hit the goalpost and bounced off. He was about to utter some very colorful curses when his view of the game was obstructed by a face so suddenly that it nearly made him jump.

“I think you might be done with that table. Unless you want to wear a circle into the surface, in which case by any means, keep going, though you might want to consider a better way of doing it,” said the old man with a twinkle in his eyes and a quirk of his lips that managed to infuriate Thorin in mere seconds. 

“What?” Thorin asked, still confused from the sudden appearance. The man was definitely not local, and looked ridiculously pretentious in his light grey suit and blue hat.

“It might take you months, if not years.” There it was, that same glint of amusement, and Thorin frowned, growing even more frustrated. But he would not be anything but professional, he decided, reigning in his temper. It was his fault for not paying attention, after all, and Dís would have his head if she heard that he was watching the game instead of doing his job.

“I apologize. Please take a seat.” He even pulled out a chair at the now very clean table. The man, however, didn’t even move to sit.

“I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf Grey.” The name sounded vaguely familiar, and Thorin shook the hand that was held out to him, though he didn’t try to hide his confusion.

“No? Maybe Coach Grey? That should ring a bell…” The old man tried again with a smile, and Thorin frowned in thought. Yes, he heard others mentioning a Coach Grey before, but he definitely wasn’t one of his old mentors.

“Thorin Oakenshield. Now, what can I bring you, Mr. Grey?” He pulled out his notepad, hoping that the weird old man would leave him alone after he got his order. It seemed like he was hoping in vain, though, because the man wouldn’t even sit down.

“Just Gandalf, please, and I am not here to drink, my boy. I am here to offer you a chance.” 

“A chance. For what?” He lowered the notepad slowly as thoughts of what Gandalf could be offering flew through his mind. It couldn’t possibly…

“A chance to take that Olympic gold that you and your father have always dreamed of.”

Thorin could only stare at the man incredulously. There was a flutter of hope in his chest at _Olympic gold_ , something that he hasn’t felt in years, but as soon as he noticed it, he beat it down mercilessly, and the anger and disappointment that welled up in its place was bitter and strong.

“Olympics? If that is why you were looking for me, I have to assume that you know who I am. Which leaves me to believe that you are either ignorant and don’t know the details of _why_ we didn’t get the gold last time, or you are foolish enough to think that I have a chance of getting back on the ice after what happened,” he growled, slamming the pad and pen down on the table.

“And if you’re not buying anything, I have to ask you to leave,“ he added, not caring one bit if he was rude. He’d rather take Dís and her lectures.

“It is not me who is foolish, Thorin, but the one who uses something that happened three years ago as an excuse to hide from his past _and_ future. And you are also ignorant for thinking that you can only make a return in your old hockey uniform.”

“My father…”

“Yes, your father and your grandfather were both great hockey players. Some of the best of their time, if I may say so. But what are you, Thorin? You are working at your sister’s pub, serving beer and wiping tables. Nobody won gold at yelling instructions at the TV yet, as far as I know.” 

Thorin barely heard the last few words from his rapidly rising temper, and he didn’t even care to wonder how Gandalf knew all that about him. The only thing holding him back from physically throwing the man out was his respect for the elderly.

“I will say this one time. I’m not interested, and I want you to leave. Now.” He ground out between clenched teeth, readying himself for more insults and rude comments, but to his great surprise, he got none. Gandalf only regarded him with a slight frown for a few seconds, before huffing out a mildly annoyed “very well, then,” and turning to walk away. Thorin couldn’t help blinking in surprise that the old man didn’t put up more of a fight and just left like that.

“What the hell?” He murmured, and with one last glance to the TV, he decided to go back to the bar and make sure that the glasses were all spotless. The game was a hopeless case anyway, and it made him think too much of the time when it was him in those uniforms, playing in that arena, but not in the minor league, no, they were going for _gold_...

Then the door jingled again, and he turned to look so quickly that his neck popped in protest. His temper flared again when he saw that it was, of course, Gandalf returning with a smaller duffle bag. He was about to open his mouth and say a few choice words in warning before he actually threw the man out, but Gandalf was moving quite quickly for someone his age, and he was at the bar before Thorin could get out anything more than a very angry “you.”

“I believe that I have to make my point a little more clear. And you better think about it, because I am offering you the only chance you have left at the Olympics. Now, we don’t have much time, so you better think quickly,” Gandalf said, pulling out something from the duffel bag and putting it on the bar table. It was a pair of skates. Thorin glanced at them, then looked at Gandalf in confusion. Then he looked at the skates again, properly.

They were figure skates.

**Author's Note:**

> Figure skating AU? Yup. Do I know anything about figure skating, other than watching the Olympics? Nope. Am I sorry? Undecided.
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic in this fandom, and as I said, I don't actually know much about figure skating, so any kind of constructive criticism and advice will be much appreciated. ^^
> 
> The story is also unbeta-d for now, but I'm looking for anyone who would be willing to beta for me. Just shoot me a message at facepalmconquistador.tumblr.com


End file.
